


Commander of the Grey

by Ginger_kitty



Series: Annis [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21525442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger_kitty/pseuds/Ginger_kitty
Relationships: Alistair/Anora Mac Tir/Female Warden
Series: Annis [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1521230
Kudos: 2





	1. Alistair

Sometimes, in the morning, I like to lie in bed and play a game. It’s called ‘things that are worse than getting up early!’ There’s darkspawn, demons, archdemons, werewolves, revered mothers, royal advisors, worldwide cheese shortage… I don’t like early mornings. This morning I’m going through the list in my head, refusing to open my eyes and admit the day has begun, when I hear something that’s on my ‘things that are the best things in the world’ list. I can hear my wives chatting quietly to each other, trying not to wake me - evil morning people that they both are - but just getting ready for the day ahead.

Anora’s voice is rich and low, like warm, spiced wine on a cold day. Mia’s voice is higher, clear and bell-like; it reminds me of the larks chattering in the Chantry courtyard. Technically, I suppose, I’m only officially married to Anora, the Chantry frowning on being married to more than one person and confusing bloodlines, especially if you’re a king. But our extended family works a little differently, and it works. So I have three wives and one husband dotted about the place and this innocent Chantry-boy is very happy with the situation. Mostly. Maybe not today. It’s been almost six months since the Battle of Denerim, the last time we saw Leliana and Zevran. Leli writes at least, from Orlais last time, but there’s been nothing from Zev except rumours from Antiva about a coup among the Crows. The death toll is quite impressive, we’re all very proud.

Since apparently morning is not going away, I open my eyes and turn to watch my beautiful girls. They’re murmuring quietly to each other, over at the dressing table. They couldn’t be more different, one pale and blonde, tall and statuesque, the other short, curvy, vibrant with energy that matches her long crimson hair. Anora still feels uncomfortable with Mia doing her hair sometimes, she says it’s a job for a ladies maid. Mia just laughs at her, reminding her that the Circle has no maids and the closest friends often help each other get ready for the day. Sometimes she makes flirtatious comments about how much she loves playing with Anora’s hair, comments that usually end with a bit of a delay in the preparations. Just watching the two of them together, especially if there’s ‘canoodling’ involved, is one of the highlights of my day. The one thing they both have in common, except their excellent taste in men, of course, is sadness. It’s always there, just under the surface. I know at least some of it is my fault, most of it in Anora’s case. Why they forgive me is a mystery and I don’t push too hard to unravel it in case they change their minds.

They’re subdued this morning, not just their usual quiet to avoid rousing ‘the grouchy bear’ as Anora calls me. Now I’m properly awake I notice their positions. Mia’s playing with Anora’s hair, running her fingers through it, but not standing behind her while she braids it like most mornings. This morning she is sitting on Anora’s knee, winding the blonde tresses through her fingers while they talk. She’s always moving, never still, my Mia. By contrast, Anora has her head on Mia’s shoulder, relaxed and calm, enjoying her hair being played with and feeling no need to move simply for the sake of it. I remember thinking how cold she was, how hard and unfeeling she seemed when we first met. We were so wrong about each other. There’s still distance, still things we don’t talk about. There are hard days, days when she looks at me and sees the man who killed her father, or when I look at her and see Cailan’s body, strung up and desecrated at Ostagar, betrayed by a man she still worships. We don’t agree on a lot of things, I’m a bastard stable boy and she’s a spoiled noblewoman. But today will be hard in a different way so for now I just want to watch them and enjoy the view.

The view is definitely getting better as Mia starts kissing her way down Anora’s neck while Anora slips Mia’s gown off her shoulders, fingers drifting down over golden skin, exposing pillowy breasts, gently pinching dark nipples. I don’t want to interrupt them, just watch quietly, hand slipping down to where morning wood is becoming something a bit more serious, rubbing in time to the movement of Anora’s mouth on Mia’s breast, listening to my little firecracker moan. Anora loves quietly, Mia likes to let everyone know how good they are making her feel. Suddenly Mia is on the floor, kneeling before her Queen, spreading her long legs. I can’t see her any more, but Anora’s languid movements, her head falling back gracefully, the increasing pace of her breathing tell me exactly what is happening to her. It spurs me on, I can feel the pleasure building as my hand moves faster. Then I glance at the mirror on the table and my eyes meet Anora’s. I watch as her body tenses, her every mannerism telling me she’s coming and I can’t hold back, my orgasm taking over as we look directly at each other, joined by our love for our Mia. As I think her name, she stands, tongue licking glistening fluid from her lips, breasts still exposed, framed by her silk robe, mischief dancing in her green eyes. Those minxes, they knew I was awake and watching and they decided to put on a show. I’ll miss this.

\--------

Standing on the steps in front of the palace, watching her ride away, I have a desperate urge to follow her. I’d go back to sleeping on the ground, chasing darkspawn and fighting impossible odds if it meant I spent every day with her. We were too long apart, then for too long we weren’t sure what we were to each other, I hate that we’re being separated again. I walk back into the empty-feeling building, my Maker-sanctioned wife at my side, and try to work out how I can slip away to Amaranthine without anyone noticing.

As it happens, I didn’t need to worry. Apparently we’re overdue a honeymoon and her Majesty has decreed a trip to Highever to see the memorial to Duncan, with a brief stop at Vigil’s Keep on the way there and a slightly longer one on the way back. Sometimes I really do love that blonde, ice queen of mine.


	2. Anders

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! 

There's no way I'm going to survive another wave of those bastards, not on my own. I can hear them coming, weapons clashing and clanging, grunts and growls. This place is full of fucking grey wardens, where are the bastards. Hopefully not dead. Fuck! 

I've been trying to ignore the groans behind me, I've almost no mana left, why should I use it trying to heal one of the bastard templars? We'll die anyway when the darkspawn come through the door. 

Fuck! I need to try. Maybe I can save enough mana to take us all out in a blast of flame when they burst through, but that pitiful groaning, I can't leave him like that. Of course, when I turn and see it's  _ him _ , I really, really want to leave him like that. Biff! That’s not his name of course, but he likes to hit, and he really doesn’t like smart-mouthed mages giving him a nickname. I’m a dick like that.

Thankfully, it sounds like there’s another bunch of darkspawn on the way so no time for a moral dilemma. A quick delve proves what I knew anyway, broken ribs; punctured lung; punctured spleen; gut wound leaking bile and shit into his abdomen. I don’t have enough left to even start on him. One good inferno, take us all out in seconds, that’s the best I can offer him. I start preparing the spell but two of the bastards burst through the door before I’m halfway through. A half-hearted fireball takes them out, but now I’m fucked, and so is Biff because I’ve bugger all left and there’s more feet coming. Time for the poker face and some sparks on my fingertips - can you bluff darkspawn?

Wait! Not darkspawn! The tall girl I wasted a whole day hitting on and a short figure wrapped in what looks like chainmail but with a Dalish style to it, an elf then? I can’t see their face, most of it is covered by a light chain veil that wraps around leaving only the eyes free. I’ve heard dwarfish rogues wear something similar in case of darkspawn blood getting in their mouths but this one is definitely too tall for a dwarf. The eyes are looking at the dead bodies all around me, anyway, I’d better hurry up and say it wasn’t me!

Except the girl just called the elf ‘Commander’. That’s not right, the Commander that’s coming isn’t an elf, or a rogue. She’s a mage, the Hero of Fereldan, and I know her. And then the ‘Commander’ loosens the veil so I can see her face.

Fuck!

\-------------

Somehow we managed to survive, mainly because one of the best healers I ever trained has apparently turned into a maniacal killing machine, hacking through darkspawn with an enchanted sword that sends severed limbs and heads flying. Apparently she found the spirit of an Arcane Warrior who taught her how to channel mana to use armour, weapons and then got a variety of similarly homicidal maniacs to teach her how to use them. One of them being the foul mouthed, foul-smelling dwarf who has been hanging about for the past week. Once every darkspawn is dead and every survivor or body accounted for inside, we head up to the battlements in search of a ‘talking’ darkspawn. I really hope the other recruit was just delirious, because a talking darkspawn is a whole new level of fucked up.

But of course, he wasn’t. There’s something truly repulsive about the guttural way it talks, not that it says much before Annis leaves it in several bits. I concentrate on the Seneschal, a decent man who insisted on putting me in a secure guest suite rather than the dungeon. He’s more shocked than hurt but clearing up various cuts and bruises from the darkspawn’s attempt at ‘persuasion’ at least give me something to do. Soon enough I’m going to have to face the Commander and I really don’t want to do that. In fact, she’s looking straight at me, with that thoughtful look that means I’d better find something else to do. Until a clattering in the courtyard draws her attention and suddenly she’s flying down the stairs as if the chain mail weighs nothing, the rest of us following like ducklings at her heels.

Now, I know she’s the Hero of Fereldan and therefore travelled with the new King and all that, and honestly I didn’t think I’d still be here when she arrived, but I definitely wasn’t anticipating the King and Queen riding into the courtyard, followed by various hangers-on including Templars. I’ll just hang back and keep my mouth shut. Which would have worked far better if that insane bitch, Rylock, hadn’t spotted me. One minute I’m trying to look inconspicuous, the next I’m back under the thumb of the Chantry, the next I’m apparently conscripted into the Grey Wardens while King, Queen and Commander all smirk at each other. They then move away from the rest of us and share what I’m pretty sure is ‘a moment’. Picking a fight with the dwarf at least distracts everyone from them until it’s time for the royal entourage to move on to Highever and time for us to head in and become Grey Wardens.

It’s obvious from the ceremonial words that not all of us will survive the Joining. If that’s the deal, so be it, I’m tired of all the running. If I can’t find my phylactery then I’ll get my freedom a different way and if I die, at least I die free.

The thick, purple fluid burns as it runs down my throat, leaving an acrid, rancid taste at the back of my throat. Then the pain starts, overwhelming my senses till I can’t hold on and I start to fall into darkness.

Fuck!


	3. Nathaniel

She sits on my father's chair to give judgement, perched on the edge so her feet touch the ground. She says it's to let people know she is listening, that she isn't lolling back, but I know it's so her feet aren't dangling like a child's. Anyone looking would know she's not a child, lush curves and bee stung lips, a nose just a little too long for beauty but huge, green eyes make up for it. Her face is animated, conveying emotion easily, the peasant before her relaxes, feeling heard, feeling respected by the new Arlessa. 

The mask drops once we leave the hall. She says nothing till we reach her office but when she sits her lips purse and her eyes are cold. She doesn't dismiss us to our duties as she usually does, instead she leaves us standing here while she rifles through papers. I catch Anders' eye and he just shrugs. I know they knew each other before the Blight but she is as big a mystery to him as she is to me. Except that he likes her. A lot! 

I don't. Delilah might have convinced me that our father deserved his fate, Annis might have given me the keepsakes I came here to recover, Anders might adore her quietly while making innuendos so obvious she doesn't realise it's real, Oghren might worship the ground she walks on - I still don't like her. She's a cold, calculating woman who assesses how useful someone will be to her before passing judgement. I'm a Grey Warden because an archer who can pick locks and set traps is useful to her, and if I had not survived the Joining, she would have shrugged and decided I wasn't that useful after all. She decides our missions on the same principles, how it serves her ends, not what is best for her people. 

Case in point - she's finally decided to look for our missing warden. I've never met Kristoff but is there even a chance he's still alive in the cursed Blackmarsh after the months we've spent chasing smugglers and bandits, recruiting that elven bitch while one of our own is missing? But we're going now so I guess her Ladyship has found a use for him after all. 

The Blackmarsh is more than haunted, demons roam and werewolves attack at every opportunity, I'm glad of the enchantments the mages cast on my arrows. It’s humid, the smell of damp permeating the air and black clouds casting a perpetual gloom and finally we find Kristoff’s corpse. Poor bastard! It looks like he’s been dead only a couple of days, all this time and we were barely too late. Her Ladyship’s face twists at the corpse, bloated with decomposition and the soggy, wet, surroundings. And when the darkspawn appears - an actual talking darkspawn - she’s enraged. This thing that calls itself The First has taken something she thought might be useful, it’s shown her to be fallible when everything was going a bit too smoothly for her. I’m sorry for Kristoff, and disgusted by the darkspawn. But there’s also something quite satisfying about the bitch being wrong for once. Part of me is ashamed by that, this mission is a resounding failure and now we’re surrounded and I’m probably going to be rotting next to poor Kristoff in about 5 minutes, but her Ladyship is fucked too and that makes me feel a bit better. What can I say, I’m a bastard!

\-------

Finally, we’re out of the Fade, out of the fucking Blackmarsh and back at Vigil’s Keep, admittedly plus a walking corpse which is massively freaking just about everyone out, including me. Annis and Anders are fascinated by Justice, I’m just keeping out of its way.

Things are coming to a head. Peasants rioting, nobles plotting and fucking darkspawn everywhere, can’t turn around without tripping over the bastards. We picked up one of the Legion of the Dead yesterday, checking out where they were supposed to be coming from; a sweet girl called Sigrun. She’s a vicious fighter and I’m glad to fight beside her. Plus, she’s open and honest and friendly and we could definitely do with a bit more of that around here. The Arling is so dangerous right now the King and Queen diverted their plans to return to Denerim via Vigil’s Keep and our Arlessa is in an even fouler mood than usual. I guess the rumours about her and King Alistair are true after all, poor Anora. 

\----------

The Bitch has been away more and more, investigating all the activity, taking Anders, Justice and Sigrun with her, leaving me with Ohgren and Velanna - one permanently drunk and filthy, the other hostile and obviously using the Grey Wardens to get revenge for her sister. I walk the halls I ran as a child and wonder if one day it will feel like home again. I can’t help thinking about Delilah. The last message we got, the one Annis ran off to this time, said that Amaranthine is under attack. I begged her to take me, to let me help my family this time, she told me no, she needed someone to hold the fort here, someone she trusted. What a joke! If I lose what’s left of my family, I’ll go back to my original plan and kill her.

There’s a commotion outside and I run to the nearest window. The darkspawn are here, and we have barely a skeleton crew. The other Wardens are already down there and I start running. I don’t know if there’s anything left beyond these walls, but I silently promise my sister - I’ll kill every one that comes my way and if it comes to it, I’ll take as many of the bastards with me as I can. For Amaranthine, for my family, I hope Annis is having better luck. Time to go.


	4. Velanna

The empty pages stare at me. I feel that there are words there, hidden inside me, and if I could find the key those words would appear on the page, whole and entire. But the pages are empty because I am empty.

Other people’s words fill me now. Seranni’s friends telling me I cannot be with them, I am not one of them. Ilshae banishing me from the clan, from my family, only elves as steeped in rage and hatred as I following me, no comfort to be found but my sister who follows for love, not from hate. Seranni telling me to leave her to the darkness, the taint that is killing the only person I love.

The pages are empty - because I am empty.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit different - an experiment. I hope you like it.


End file.
